Tutor
by ShayL
Summary: Randy discovers that he is failing English class and Mr. Syme decides that he is in need of a tutor. And who else better than Ponyboy? The two of them may be on mutual terms with each other, but is the war between the greasers and Socs really over?
1. Prologue

Yes, it's another Outsiders fanfic. I know some of you may be like 'where the hell is she getting these ideas?' or 'doesn't this girl have a life?' or even 'that girl has some major problems, but I like it!'. Hmm... can't say which 'comment' I would prefer...

Oh my, Randy and Ponyboy-centric this time! I've always wanted to write something with these two guys in it. I find it interesting how they go from 'typical social rivalry' to 'some sort of connection that's not quite friendship but not platonic either'. If what I said made any sense...

Anyways, back to the fanfic.

Summary: Randy discovers that he is failing English class. The teacher decides that he is in need of a tutor. And who else better than Ponyboy? The two of them may be on mutual terms for now, but will they be able to handle this? What will the gang and Socs think? Randy's POV

Oooh, I can feel the tension already! Hahaha!

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**Prologue**

_**Tuesday afternoon- 3:15 PM**_

"_Please come to my classroom at the end of the day, Randal."_

Phft, what the hell does that old man want now. As if I got all the time in the world to meet with him. The gang wasn't too pleased either.

"_C'mon Randy! Just skip it. It's not like he can't tell ya tomorrow or something."_

Of course, my father's voice chose to step in right after that.

"_Randal, I don't care what you do with your friends outside of school, but do keep good grades while you are in school. That's all I'm asking for."_

Thus, I had to tell the gang that I just wanted to get it over with now, then deal with a bitchy teacher the next day.

Almost everyone is gone, save the janitors, some teachers and those nerds that would rather live in the classroom than hang out at Rusty's. I could hear my sneakers make little squeaks on the linoleum floor. Amused, I purposely dragged my feet the whole way to the English room, annoying random passer-bys.

Making a light tap on the open door, I walked in, only to spot the old man seated at his desk with a sky-high pile of papers on his one side. His golden nameplate, reading _Mr. Syme_, sparkled almost mischievously as I approached the desk. I was starting to get an ominous feeling, like something that I would not be please with will happen.

What would Bob have done? Ignore it, most likely.

"Yes Mr. Syme? You asked to see me?"

That's right, play it cool like Bob would have. Act like the good boy that these foolish adults believe you to be.

Pausing in his writing, I noticed with a red pen, he glanced up at me, looking at me as if he could see through my act. Hah, fat chance.

"Have a seat Randal. I will be with you in a moment."

Of course, I only have to wait another hour or so, right? Damn teachers.

Surprisingly, he finished writing in less than a minute, placing that cursed red pen down gently to the side. He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a manila file, filled with a good stack of papers.

Holding it up, he looked at me. "Do you know what this is, Randal?"

What? Am I suppose to read his damn mind or something? "No sir, I do not."

"It's a file of all your papers so far from this year. Or should I be more precise, all of your papers that you have failed to respond to my expectations."

You know, I really hate it when they start talking in riddles like that. "Are you saying those are papers that I have received 'F's' on? Or papers that I forgot to include a certain rule of yours, thus not able to receive full credit?"

Sighing, he placed down the file, using his free hand to rub between his eyebrows. Heh, he thinks he's suffering. I'm the one that doesn't need this shit!

"Randal, you speak well enough, but, to put bluntly, your papers are crap."

Wait a minute... "Crap, sir? I'm afraid I do not understand what you are implying. Unless you're just trying to say that I'm, perhaps, failing?"

"Yes, Randal, you are failing. Very badly at that. Of course, what I don't understand is the difference between the way you speak and the way you write. If anything, I must say you are like the opposite of Ponyboy Curtis."

Ponyboy? What does he have to do with anything? "Opposite, sir?"

"I'm sure you have listened to him talk before, not exactly great English, but I can only assume it's from his environment, which I, obviously, can't change. As for the opposite though, his writing is definitely something to note on."

Ah, I see where this is going now. "Sir, you seem to brought up Ponyboy for a reason, right?"

The old man smiled, closing his eyes. "You're a bright one Randal, which is why I must insist that you follow along. I'm assigning you a tutor; more specifically, I will have Ponyboy help you with your work."

Damn it... "Is it absolutely necessary that I do this sir? Isn't there something else, like extra credit of some sort that I could do instead?"

"No Randal," He was shaking his head, looking at me again, "I want to see if your work would improve with someone checking it over. Randal, I believe you have the potential to do well in this class, but I do not know whether you're simply not trying or if you truly do not understand the assignments given.

I asked Ponyboy today, and he said he would do it, but only if you agree as well. Randal, the boy is willing to give up some of his free time to help you, so I think this would be a good chance to bring your grades up and also... I don't know about this, but make a new friend, perhaps? Someone who knows what they're doing most of the time at least?"

What the hell? Friends with Curtis? I don't hate the kid anymore, but goes as far as being friends with him? Fat chance. As for my grades though... "Can I give you my answer tomorrow sir?"

"Sure, before or after class, I will expect a response. As for now, you may be on your way." He finished, waving a hand towards the door.

Carefully, I kept my stride to the outside calm, acting as if everything's was fine and dandy. Once I stepped out though...

My knuckles were bleeding, being scratched up by the brick wall.

This was seriously pissing me off by the minute. A tutor? And of all people, Ponyboy Curtis? A greaser for god's sake! Hah, I could see my friend's faces now.

"_A Soc being tutored by a grease! Hah, what a loser you are Randy. That's pretty pathetic that you couldn't even get out of it."_

One thing is obvious though. If I do go along with this, it must be kept to an absolute secret between Ponyboy, Mr. Syme and I.

God, if Bob could see me now from wherever he is now. He would probably beat the shit out of me, then laugh. Or maybe the other way around?

There is one thing bugging me.

"_I asked Ponyboy today, and he said he would do it..."_

Why the hell would Ponyboy Curtis, a greaser, agree to tutor me, a Soc?

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And there's the prologue! Oh my, Randy is so upset. What will he do? Agree to be tutored? Disagree? Run away? Die! The possibilities are endless!

Okay, I'll stop now. Please read and review!


	2. Chapter 1

AH! A continuation! OMG! CODE RED! ALERT THE AIR FORCE SQUAD!

Ahem, yes, this is... chapter two of Tutor! Whoo, whoo! Aren't you guys all giggly and excited about this? Because I am... sort of...

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**Chapter One**

**Tuesday evening- 10:46 PM**

Walking down the streets in my neighborhood, I spotted an empty beer can lying on the sidewalk just ahead. Snorting to myself, I lightly kicked it to the side towards a trash can. Lazy asses.

Stopping, I flipped open the gate handle and walk through. Skipping up the steps, I took notice of several lights on in the windows. While its not very late to me, my folks would normally be in bed at this hour. Shrugging to myself, I unlocked the door and walked in, making my way towards the kitchen.

There, I found my father doing some paperwork on the counter, seated on a stool. Frowning at the unusual spot, I slowly crept up behind him, raising a hand... and tapped him on the shoulder.

Jumping, he gasped harshly, spinning his whole body around to stare at his intruder. Relaxing when he saw my now-grinning face, he put up an annoyed look, pursing his lips.

"Randal... why did you do that?"

"Father... why are you sitting here instead of your unusual spot in the living room?"

Frowning, he turned back around, shuffling some papers around to make it look like he was rather too busy to deal with my attempts at small-talk... or at least, that's the impression I get from him.

"Well, if you must know... I spilled one too many coffees on the carpet and therefore, I am forbidden to go outside the kitchen with coffee." He muttered, putting his face in his hands with shame and embarrassment. Of course, my sudden laughter didn't make him feel any better.

"Ha, wow... did mother wipe up the mess with your head as well?" I asked in between chuckles, steadying myself against the counter.

"No, but she did have that look in her eyes... you know... _that_ look."

"Well.." I started, shrugging my shoulders lightly, "If you were a good boy like _someone _else in this family, maybe you wouldn't get _that_ look all the time."

"Hmm? We have another son?" Gasping dramatically, he looked at me with the best panicked look he could muster, "Randal... you're not my real son! You're adopted!"

My mind just went blank at the utter stupidity of that comment, finally registering the sound of the old man's sniggering a few seconds later. "Hardy har har... you're just jealous that mother likes me better."

"Maybe so..." He smiled, leaning backwards against the counter with arms crossed. "You just never know with that woman."

"A feisty one, right?" I put in with a grin, making a claw swiping motion with one hand.

"That's why I married her." He smiled softly, staring at the coffee mug in hand. Sighing, he placed it down, looking at me again. "So... how was your day?"

"S'alright. School's school. The gang and I hung out at Rusty's for a bit." Shrugging, I looked away when Mr. Syme popped in my mind. "N-Nothing much."

Raising an eyebrow while I cursed to myself mentally for that stutter, he tilted his head to get a better look at me. "Nothing at all, eh?"

I didn't say anything, trying to think of different excuses to use.

"Well.." He voice cut into my mental battle, a hand being placed on my shoulder. "Just remember to keep your grades up, all right? That's all I'm asking for."

I refused to look at him, closing my eyes. "I know, father. I know."

**Wednesday morning- 7:02 AM**

Walking briskly through the school halls at an extremely early time... at least for myself anyways, I made my way towards the English department. Knocking on the door of my destination, I clicked it open, peeking around the edge.

There he was, seated in the exact same way as yesterday, except for the smaller pile of papers beside him. Pausing in his scribble, the old man looked up with a questioning look. I notice that he looked as if he was going to crack a grin when he realized it was me.

Yeah, yeah, laugh at the desperate fool, ass.

"Mr. Syme? I came to talk about that... tutoring." I said quietly, walking up to his desk.

"I assume that you came to a conclusion, correct?"

"Hmm." I mumbled, lightly fingering that blasted nameplate. "I guess I can... give the tutoring a shot."

"Mmm, mm. That's good to hear, really." He commented, bobbing his head, fingers crossed under his chin. "Randal, I know you have the potential to do well in this class, so please try to make this work. If not, then we'll have to find another solution, agreed?" Holding out a hand, I assumed he wanted me to shake on it.

Grasping his warm hand with my own lightly, I forced a smile on my face, although it probably looked like I was grimacing or something.

Either it didn't or he just chose to ignore it, he continued with his babbling. "I will discuss this with Mr. Curtis today. How about the two of you meet today, after school, in the library? I hope this won't get in the way of your social schedule, no?"

Curse this old man... "I suppose I can manage that. Is this going to be once a week?"

"Well, if you choose to bring up your grades as soon as possible, why not just every week day until we see some improvement. Then we can lighten the schedule to whatever fits your fancy."

Bob... take me with you... "Uhh... well, if its necessary and if Ponyboy agrees, I will follow suit." Reaching back to rub the back of my head out of habit, I glanced around the room distractingly, dying to get out of this classroom.

You're doing this for dad. You're doing this for dad.

"Very good. Well, Randal, I shall see you in class later on and don't forget to meet with Mr. Curtis today." He picked up that red pen again, refocusing himself on the piece of paper again.

"Yes, sir." And with that, I quickly left the room. One thing came to mind though as I ran down the hall to our meeting place with the gang.

What do I tell them about this?

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Bam! Chapter One is... finished! YEAH!

All right, chaps, if you could, please review for any sort of criticism, praise, comments, flames, whatever suits your fancy! Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 2

Oh poor Randy. He's in such a predicament with keeping up his grades for his dadoo and sneaking around his gang members in order to see Ponyboy.

Wow, that sentence make it sound like a cheesy yaoi story.

Well, don't worry, its not going to be... well, unless you guys want it to be a yaoi fic, but my intention now are purely a strained-friendshippy kind of fic.

**Warning**: I am putting in unimportant OCs AKA Randy's gang members. These guys don't really have much of a purpose and if you forget their names, it doesn't matter. I'm just doing for the sake of Randy having a small gang of friends.

Anyways, one chapter coming up! Enjoy!

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**Wednesday afternoon- 2:15 PM**

Drumming my fingers, and receiving some annoyed looks from the professor, I glanced at the clock for the hundredth time during this final period. Only ten more minutes to go and I have to first tell the gang that I can't go out and then make my way to the library to work with Curtis.

Ponyboy Curtis. The little greaser boy tutoring me, a Soc.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not like my old self anymore. I don't really have any qualms about the whole Soc-Greaser rivalry anymore. At least, not after those few incidents that involved the Curtis kid himself.

But I do still have a reputation to uphold, now that I've taken Bob's place.

Sighing, I looked at the clock again.

Five minutes.

Yeah, the longest damn five minutes in my life.

Cursing under my breath, I snuck a glance around the room, spotting Cherry Valance a few seats away. While she became more of a friends toward Curtis than I did, she still acts as the stereotypical Soc in school or with friends.

It must be rougher for her, since it seems, although this is purely a speculation on my part, she has quite a liking towards the kid. And if I were to really look at them, I would say that Ponyboy may possibly feel the same.

Not that I care or anything, of course.

Jolting my head at the sound of the ringing above, I jumped out of my seat, shoving some nerd to the side and rushed out of that room like I was on fire.

Of course, I wasn't really but my mind felt like it was burning with all this stress building up. I need a release. I have to hit something. Or kick. I don't care, just as long as I can just freaking attack something.

Not wanting to really start a fight or get in trouble, I slammed a fist against the lockers, sucking in a deep breath. I tapped my curled-up hand against the thin, metal door, ignoring the few stares I was getting. After I straightened myself up, I continued my way down the hall, heading towards that little gang of mine.

Yes, MY gang. Bob was the original leader and I suppose I was the second-in-command, but now that he's gone, I have unintentionally took his place.

There's only a few guys in the group, nothing fancy. We're not like those hoods that form their own packs and start gang wars or anything like that.

Though we never mind a fight or two, just for kicks. No pun intended.

"Hey!" I called out, making a slight wave. Five of them turned to look at me, grins on their faces. What could they possibly be so excited about?

"Randy! Guess what, man! Ted here said he got us a couple of chicks from a nearby school to hang out with tonight!" The one, named Scott with short, cropped blonde hair, explained, patting Ted, with curly red hair, on the shoulder.

"Ahh, is that so?" I questioned, making a smirk towards the boy.

"Don't look at me like that, Ran. I'm just as capable as you at picking up some broads." Ted complained, giving me an annoyed look. Well, I can't help it, this guy's got a red afro. If I were a girl, I wouldn't really be turned on by bright red hair because it makes me think of clowns... and I despise clowns with a passion.

"You're coming with us, right?" Matt, despite the fact that he looks like a hippie with shoulder-length brown hair, is actually quite buffed up, asked.

I opened my mouth to respond then clamped it shut.

I forget that Mr. Syme never gave a time of how long those stupid tutoring sessions will be! Shit, now what?

Clearing my throat, I tried again. "Yeah, but uhh, I have to do a couple things before I go out tonight. Ya know, my old man wants me to do some errands and whatnot. So, umm, why don't you guys give me a call later with a time?"

Thinking it over, since the old teacher didn't give a time, perhaps I could make my own time. Besides, I'm sure Curtis doesn't really want to stay in the library all day. I'll just sit there for a bit, go home, wait for them to call, go out and come home later again.

Yeah, the perfect plan. In action.

"Aww, Ranny loves his daddy." David, with short, thick dark brown hair, teased with a huge grin across his face. "Instead of a momma's boy, he's a dadda's boy." He laughed, slapping me against the back lightly.

"Hardy har har, tease me all you want but you know you can't beat me." I responded, giving him a tough look. He stopped laughing, but that grin remained in place. "Well, I have to go back to the lockers, so I'll see you guys later tonight." Waving, I turned back around to walk down the hall.

Glancing back, I waited for them to move out of sight, then turned quickly down towards a set of doors that would lead me to the stairwell. Jogging up a flight, I continued my pace down the path into another set of doors that lead me right into the library.

Pausing, I looked around for a short auburn-haired boy, ignoring the strange look I was getting from the librarian.

What is with everyone and giving me looks today?

Well anyways, I wasn't finding him anymore and most certainly wasn't about to go on a hunt for him, so I made my way towards an empty table in a far back corner and got comfortable. If Curtis wants to tutor me, then he'll just have to come and find me.

"Hello Randy."

Well... that was quick. Sneaky brat.

Looking up at the boy, I nodded. "Hey. How have ya been?"

"Fine, I guess." He responded, seating himself across from myself. "You?"

I shrugged lightly, leaning back with my hands folded behind my head. "Same."

He didn't say anything for a bit, and I wasn't about to start any unnecessary conversations. I took a glance at him and the kid seemed a bit uncomfortable.

Shifting in his seat, he picked up a piece of paper. "So... uhh, Mr. Syme says that you're..." He paused, looking at me as if he didn't want to continue, "... not doing... very well in English... right?"

"Yep." No reason to lie and make this a complete and total waste of time.

"Okay, well then... umm... where to start?" He mumbled to himself, flipping through a bunch of papers, which, of course, was making me very curious.

"What's all this stuff?" I asked, leaning forward to grab one. Pulling a sheet out of his grasp, despite his complaints and attempts to snatch it back, I studied its content.

Name: Randy Adderson

Subject: English

Teacher: Mr. Syme

Assignment: Essay

Grade: Zero

What the hell?

Blinking, I looked at the boy across from me, who, in turn, gulped. Standing up, with him jumping in his seat, I snatched the rest of the papers out of his grasp.

Randy Adderson. Zero.

Randy Adderson. Poor.

Randy Adderson. Needs More Effort.

Randy Adderson. Two out of Thirty.

Randy Adderson. Zero.

Randy Adderson. Failed.

You gotta be shitting me.

"He... that old fart... gave you my grades?" I spit out, whipping his glare towards him.

"W-Well, he wanted me to see where yer messin' up an' stuff, so I could figure out what to help ya with. I didn't ask for them or nothin'."

"The hell ya didn't!" I shouted, causing the librarian to make shushing noise. "Shove it, hag!" I screamed at the lady, who gasped and stumbled backwards. Returning my attention towards the younger guy, I noticed he was now standing, hand on his bag, giving me a strange look.

What am I doing, blaming the kid for this?

Sighing, running a hand through my hair, I plopped myself back down in the chair. "Look... sorry, I didn't mean to flip or nothing, but... I didn't think he was gonna give ya my grades. I figured he was gonna say something like 'teach Randy about verbs' or something stupid like that."

Curtis was still watching me suspiciously, though he did reseat himself. "Well... I think we need to review verbs anyways."

I stared at him. He blinked and then held up another paper.

Name: Randy Adderson

Assignment: Verb Quiz

Grade: Zero

"Ahh... oh."

Damn, I didn't realize I was doing that bad.

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Poor, poor Randy. He sucks in English class. Oh well, more enjoyment for the rest of us. Well, there's your fill of a third chapter so I'm begging you to click that GO button and leave a review, pretty please!

Oh, and by the way, David, one of the gang members is actually mentioned in the book, on page 55. Hooray for useless, random characters! He's a tall boy, in case you were curious, as mentioned on page 114, lol.


	4. Chapter 3

I return after 4 years.

I'm making an attempt to jump back into Outsiders fanfiction even though I'm finding it incredibly difficult. I also realize that people would _prefer_ that I would tackle other Outsiders stories rather than this one… let's just say that I'm currently having some issues with those plotlines and, if I get myself motivated, there may be some major changes occurring. I also like DBZ a little better at the moment, but I'm trying, honestly.

So Randy needs tutoring from Ponyboy for English. Fun stuff. Let's try to make this more interesting…

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**Chapter Three**

**Wednesday afternoon- 3:23 PM**

"Hey." I called out to the kid, leaning back in my chair, my head tilted to the side as I watched him _still_ shuffling through those damn papers.

He looked up with a questioning look.

"Am I really doing that bad?"

He blinked, and then scratched his head. "Um… well, honestly… it really just seems like you just don't care." He put the papers into a nice pile, returning them to the folder. "I don't think you're really that stupid, but more as you just don't care to do it."

I didn't say anything, letting that opinion sink in. I know I don't care for English class, as well as my other classes, but I'm only failing in this. With that in mind, it's got to be more than just 'I don't care', but probably an 'I really don't get it but I also don't care' sort of factor. I smirked, getting a raised eyebrow in response. "Thanks for holding back, but I know what the deal is."

He was silent, watching me with those large green eyes, which were making me a little nervous to be honest. I glanced at the surface of the table just so I didn't have to stare back.

I heard him clear his throat. "Do you wanna start today? Or do you want to make an overview of what we're gonna work on?"

I pondered, allowing the ideas to roll around a bit. "Well… we might as well set up a schedule type thing to figure out what we're doing and start working tomorrow so we're both prepared."

He nodded, extracting a notebook and pencil from his bag. "Since we're doing this every weekday until we see some progress, we'll start off with reviewing basic grammar and stuff like that." He was scribbling pretty fast for a couple of notes.

I grinned. "You sound like Mr. Syme."

He paused, giving me a strange look. "That's kind of weird. Well, anyways, so I guess this week and maybe some of next week, we will do that. And afterwards, we'll look at your essays to figure out what's troubling you the most and see if you can rewrite them or whatever."

"Make me a copy of that." I demanded, gesturing towards his notebook. "So I know what books to bring." Though his head was bent, I swore he was scowling.

This is pretty amusing.

"Actually, I don't even know if I have any of the books, you'll have to bring yours too." While it sounded like he was trying to hold it back, he let out a sigh, an annoyed and aggravated one. For some unexplainable reason, I wanted to poke him, just to see if he would lash out or something.

But I didn't.

Since I didn't want him to lash out on me, although he probably wouldn't considering the fact he doesn't seem to have a violent streak to begin with. But you never know with these greaser kids. I've seen and heard about Ponyboy having his little fits, so I didn't really want to risk my neck in the school library of all places. That would be a miserable place to be attacked.

Not that I couldn't fight him off, but if we did potentially have some sort of brawl in here, it would probably start off another war between the Socs and the greasers that I knew was waiting to happen again. _Especially_ for what happened to Bob. While a lot of other guys like me don't care for the silly social rivalry any longer, there were still plenty of them sitting back, lingering around for that moment to come.

And this guy, Ponyboy, was a perfect target.

I thought back to the last time I really sat and talked with him, which was at his house, shortly after he came back from the hospital. He was pretty racked-up, both physically and mentally according to his oldest brother, and it was almost as if he was in a daze, sitting on his bed, staring at me but not looking at _me_. It's been awhile since then, so I know he has calmed down and is more like himself, but sometimes I wonder what would happen if he were to be attacked. Would he be difficult, struggling to fight, but too bodily weak like the night Bob died? Or does he have an inner rage inside of him that if one too many buttons were pushed, he would snap?

Or maybe I read too many comic books.

"Randy." I blinked, staring at the sort-of-redhead across from me, who returned the gaze with confusion in his eyes. "You okay?"

He was asking me if I was okay.

A greaser kid was expressing concern for a Soc.

Then again, when I was at his house, sitting on a chair in his bedroom as he told me how he had no parents, I too, was bothered, wondering what his fate would be. "Yeah, I'm good. Make me a copy yet?" We're not friends. I don't care for him as one. But I do allow myself to be concern over him as a human being. He's still just a kid and doesn't deserve to be killed in a stupid, pointless scuffle of egos and senses of worth.

"Yeah, it's just a rough idea of what we're doing since I'm not even sure what we have to do." He explained, handing over a sheet of paper which I skimmed through, nodding, and then shoved carelessly in my own bag. "I guess you don't want to sit here any longer, huh?"

I had to crack a grin. "Mind reader or am I just that obvious?"

He stood up, swinging his black, somewhat dirty bag onto his shoulders. "Maybe a little of both. Then again, I've never seen you in a library before. See you tomorrow." And with that, he turned around and left, the elder librarian watching his steps warily. I frowned at her, even though she couldn't tell.

Fucking stereotypes.

**Wednesday evening- 8:32 PM**

I chose to stay in tonight, rather than go with my buddies to wherever they wanted to go, I'm not sure. I believe Ted said that they were going to get something to eat at Rusty's when he called earlier, but I wasn't really paying attention. My mind has been all jumbled since I got home from school.

Ever since Bob had died, I've been rethinking on how I had been living my life. Sure, I was considered a rich kid and I got what I wanted from my parents, for the most part. I was convinced, as a Soc, I was better than anyone below me by monetary value. Those people who were poor, the greasers on the other side of the track, needed to be taught where they stood in this town and in life itself. I was told that I was _better than that_.

Then, that one night, I watched two scrawny-asses, little kids fight back in a park and the one particularly dirty looking one took a knife and stabbed Bob. This black-haired kid was so skinny and small, so obviously impoverished, took a dangerous weapon and turned it against another human being. Perhaps the kid had a horrible home life and he was releasing this bottled up rage he was dealing with all this time. Maybe he dealt with one too many Soc in a fight and just couldn't take it anymore. Either way, I heard he passed away in the hospital from severe burns that he received after saving children in a burning church.

It made me think. What the hell have I been doing these past few years? Seeing a fellow friend get killed by a smaller boy was a slap in the face, but to then hear that same kid died after _saving people_ was mind-blowing. He was a poor, abused kid who probably lived in a shack of a house and still had the capability to think for others.

I stopped fighting because I saw the futility in it. After the whole incident with Ponyboy, I just quit altogether because it wasn't taking me anywhere. I can't apply to colleges with a high mark in 'beating up poor people' and also, my father's knowledge of my being involved with the Bob thing was a whole other chapter. Despite this, am I even doing any better than before?

When we chatted in my Mustang, Ponyboy insisted that I would have saved those children if I were there. I didn't really agree or disagree at the time, but it was always in the back of my head. Do I, too, have the potential to think for others? I started to feel shame for my selfishness, although honestly, I would never trade my life for another. In this pyramid of society ethics and human morals, where do I stand?

I raked my hands through my hair in frustration as I felt a heavy sigh being released as if I've been holding my breath all this time. The clock says it's almost nine o'clock and at this point, I just didn't want to do anything. My parents were getting ready for bed, as I can hear them walking back and forth from their room to the bathroom, and back.

I had a real bad urge to call Ponyboy Curtis.

What the hell? What would that even accomplish? Does he have a phone in his house? What would I even say: 'Do you really think I could be a hero?' I can practically see him staring at the phone and slamming it on the hook. His brothers would ask who it was and he would respond something like, 'I dunno, some weirdo' and then the night would continue like nothing ever happened.

I wonder if he would care if I bring up during our so-called tutoring sessions. I mean, he will probably get all bent out of shape that I would want to talk about fires and children and Superman, rather than verb… tenses… and punctuation. Granted, my grades are god-awful and I don't even know what I have been doing all this time to even manage to get them that low, but it's _so boring_.

In curiosity, I picked up an English manual book I found lying on my floor, probably from when I threw it in detestation way back when I first received it. I flipped through it real quick, stopping at a page of 'English Learning Aids' where it spoke of… mnemonic devices, or whatever that is.

"I before E except after C or when sounded like A as in _neighbor_ and _weigh_."

What does that even mean? Who came up with this bullcrap? Groaning loudly, I tossed the book over my shoulder, hearing it _thud_ on the floor behind my desk chair. I wonder if I offered to buy him groceries, Pony would be willing to just do my papers for me?

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It's a short chapter, but it seems the flow of the story is each session is one chapter, plus the rest of the day if it calls for it… like this chapter. I'm going to try starting this one up because I feel that the Ponyboy-Randy relationship had a very dynamic potential after the book… I also hope that I'm not the only one thinking this.

PLEASE REVIEW! I NEED OPINIONS, LOL!


	5. Chapter 4

Well, I may have only received one review (thank you **MiatheMinion**! ^-^) but I'm hoping that if I make this next chapter more interesting, you guys would be willing to click that link at the bottom and tell me what ya think? I would hate to quit for not getting any feedback. ***pouts***

Anyways, Randy is having reflective personal issues and honestly doesn't know what to think of Ponyboy. Is he a friend now that he is no longer a foe? Should Randy care a little more for his well-being and what about his Soc friends? Or even the other Socs? Oh my goodness, too many questions.

**READ ON!

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**Chapter Four**

**Thursday afternoon- 2:42 PM**

So I've been sitting here for awhile with Ponyboy Curtis who was currently drawing up some kind of chart for me to 'fill in the blanks', or something. Basic grammar meant the beginner's stuff, learning about verbs, pronouns, adjectives, and what have you. You would think I would be embarrassed about this, but I'm over it, sort of. As long as it remains between me and Curtis, I really don't give a crap what we do, just as long as my grades get fixed.

Before I came here, I had to confess about the tutoring lessons to the gang. I figured that if I kept trying to lie about it, they would eventually poke around long enough to find out the truth. They laughed and threw a couple jabs at me; at least until I put an impressively large dent in Ted's locker, then they swore to keep their mouths shut about it. I also had to mention that it was Mr. Syme himself that was giving me the lessons, rather than Ponyboy, so here's to hoping that everything stays cool.

I have to admit that the paper being pushed in front of me made me feel like I was in primary school again. Closing my eyes, I made a soft groan while willing my hands to relax. Looking up, I noticed Ponyboy watching me with nervousness evidently clear in his green eyes.

He swallowed before speaking, which I immediately felt some guilt for being the one causing his apprehension. "Well, since we will go over verbs first, this chart is to help you figure out which word is the verb in each sentence. Most of them are action verbs but there are a few linking verbs mixed in as well as some verb phrases."

As much as I couldn't help it, I felt myself scowling. "This is stupid."

"I know." I don't know what exactly his expression was, but it looked pretty damn close to pity.

I sighed, picking up a pencil, which was actually Pony's but let's never mind the minor details. Then, I mustered up my fiercest glare at the white paper that was tormenting me.

"I don't think glaring at it will get you very far. Although, maybe if you had laser beams come out of your eyes, you could burn it." Ponyboy spoke thoughtfully, in which I noticed he was shifting his eyes off to the side, probably making its way to la-la land.

Apparently I'm not the only one who reads too many comic books.

I snorted. "If I could do that, I would burn up all these papers and convince Mr. Syme that I actually had A's on everything."

He just shrugged and said nothing while taking out another notebook from his slightly torn bag, a blue one with his name written at the top of it. As I watched him open it, a blond and auburn piece of hair fell from his normal slicked-back do, hanging in front of his eyes. "Are you really gonna just grow out the blonde dye?"

"Yeah." Pony reached up one hand, brushing the strand back in place. "I don't look good as a blonde like Sodapop, so I'm growing it out back to my natural color."

Sodapop, if I recall correctly, is the younger of the two older brothers Pony has. He's the one who works at that gas station, which I only know from all the chicks making a fuss over his good looks. "You don't look that bad once you get used to it." I commented just for the sake of continuing a normal small-talk. (I _really_ don't want to do this verb chart.) "Really, you kinda look more like your brother, which isn't a bad thing… unless that's what you don't want?"

To my surprise, he suddenly laughed out loud, getting a glare from the elder librarian. I think tomorrow we should probably try finding a table that's as far away from her desk as possible.

"I'm sorry." He said in between chuckles. "Really, I'm not laughing at you, but saying that I look like Soda is just funny because we don't look anything alike. I think all of us Curtis brothers look really different from each other. Besides…" He calmed down, wearing a soft smile now. "Soda's much more handsome than I'll ever be."

I didn't really know what to say. Sure, his brother is a good-looking fella if my memory serves me right, I'll admit it, but that doesn't necessarily mean that Pony is an ugly kid. I mean, he's not a 'girls fall for him heads over heels' kind of person, but everyone has their appeals. "Well… you're not hideous if that's what your issue is. I mean, just because your brother is better-looking than you, me, and a bunch of other guys, doesn't mean he's godly or anything. Everyone has their good and bad sides, yeah?"

His cheeks turned red and for a moment, I was afraid that he interpreted my comments differently than I intended. "Uh… sorry, you just reminded me of something about Soda when you said that…" He must have noticed my confused look. "I… I suppose you could say that I rather look up at my brothers… and sometimes wish to be more like them."

It was a personal confession, although it's not really a strange one.

I'm an only kid, so I don't know what it's like to have siblings but I've seen relationships between brothers and sisters through friends of mine. "Well, that happens. I mean, I've seen siblings that get along real well and I've seen some that just fight all the time."

There was a brief touch of sadness in his eyes before he grinned once more. "Yeah, I know how that is."

Tapping my fingers against the wooden surface of the table, I contemplated on what else to say. Any more remarks about his appearance and I'll start complimenting him more than I should. If I don't say anything, it'll just be awkward silence, knowing this kid and his social skills. Then again, the fact that a Soc like me is sitting with a greaser kid like Pony kind of puts up a weird image to begin with. "It's funny…" I said, watching as he paused in his writing to look at me again, "… we're on opposite sides of the social circle and here we are, sitting here together cooperatively, for one common goal."

After a moment of nothing, he cracked a smile. "So why can't you write something like that?"

"Uh…" Well, that certainly drew me a blank. "I… I dunno. Guess I just can't get it down on paper right or something." Then I remembered something Mr. Syme had mentioned before. "Yeah, well, why can't you talk like you write?" That was a futile attempt of an insult, though not a very good one, but a shot nonetheless.

"Because the way I write is too formal for normal speech. It would be like Shakespeare walking around, talking the way he writes his plays. Nobody would understand him."

Damn it, why is he being so in my face about it? "You mean they didn't talk like that? Isn't that the Old English language or whatever?"

"That was the writing style, yeah, but seriously, if people talked like that all the time, we would be doing the same thing by talking like businessmen. Could ya really do that?" He cocked an eyebrow, giving me a clever grin.

I stared at him with a disgruntled look, leaning back in my chair to cross my arms. "Okay… I get you." But I was still annoyed being put down like that. "You know, if this was the old me, you would be bruised and bloodied on the ground somewhere by now."

Suddenly, his face went pale as he flinched, tip of his pencil snapping against the paper. "Uh…" I watched as he swallowed tightly, keeping his eyes on the table. "I'm sorry."

What the hell am I doing? I know the kid just lost two close friends just awhile ago as well as went through some shit himself (I saw him being an emotional mess at his house, for cryin' out loud) and here I am, throwing physical threats to his well-being.

"No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that." I shifted myself in my seat, uncrossing my arms to look less intimidating. "You've just gotten really… assertive or something. I'm not like who I used to be, so I can get used to that attitude from you. I don't like to beat up greaser kids like you for kicks anymore, but just a piece of advice… most Soc guys still do."

He nodded slowly, face still of a ghastly color. "I-I know."

Wow, I suck at this. This is what I get for all the shit I caused before, I suppose.

"Seriously, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to come out so… conceited." I scratched the back of my head. "You know what I mean." I took a deep breath, placing my hands flat against the surface of the table. "But you know… even though I don't like fighting and I'll probably never do it again, I can… you know, get the other guys to stop too. Or at least my friends… you know, leave you guys alone or whatever."

He gave me a look, though it really wasn't one of distrust or disbelief… more like a reflective kind of stare. "But not all of them, huh?"

I blinked, and then frowned. "No… no, not all of them. I'm a Soc but I ain't at the top of this social pyramid."

And then he smiled. "You're a good guy, Randy."

Well… this is certainly a day for Ponyboy to throwing me off the horse with his comments. "Thanks, kid." I remember my little internal monologue I had last night where I was sorely tempted to call this person. "Say… uh, Ponyboy?" Should I say it? Should I even bother bringing up the topic?

He was watching me patiently, his hands folded on top of his notebook.

This is making me so nervous.

"Eh, never mind." I waved a hand nonchalantly, hoping that he wasn't going to pressure me.

He titled his head. "You didn't even start your chart, didya?"

I looked down at the paper in front of me, noticing all the blanks I haven't touched. In fact, I believe I did not even put the pencil against the document yet. I bit my bottom lip, tapping the pencil against the table surface.

"This is still stupid."

"I know."

I took another deep breath and picked up the pencil in writing position. _'Just do it, Randy'_ I chided to myself, shaking my head slightly. I readjusted myself in my seat and read the first sentence:

The dog ran across the street.

It took every bit of my willpower to not rip this paper to shreds. I quickly took a glance at the kid across from me and just as swiftly shot my attention back to the paper. _'For god's sake, just do the damn paper'_ and I wrote the word 'ran' in the next box.

I had to ask though. "Did you come up with these sentences yourself?"

The kid shook his head. "Naw, from the book. I'm just following along with the lessons."

At least I figured out that the kid wasn't trying to make a total ass of me. Not that I thought he would on purpose, but still. I mulled through the rest of the questions in record time and slid the paper back across the table. He picked it up, along with another pencil of his (good thing, I just might end up stealing the one in my hand), and read through it.

"Good, all of them are right."

"I would freakin' hope so." I muttered, tapping the pencil against the table surface. "I wasn't sure if I was picking out the verbs or learning how to read with those kinds of questions."

"Well, I agree with you but I honestly didn't feel like creating a new list of sentences." The kid admitted, making something of a quirky smile. "You wanna do another worksheet to get a little ahead or just call it a night?"

I took the idea into consideration. "Did ya make a detailed schedule? I know you kind of made one yesterday, but it was kinda basic." Actually, I didn't even look over his schedule last night, but I remembered he didn't really write a whole lot on it when making it.

"Well, Randy, like I said before, I don't think you're an idiot. I really just think ya don't care, but it was recommended that I go over the basics with ya."

Recommended, my ass. I never really had a problem with Mr. Syme before but he's really starting to get on my nerves, and the old man ain't even here!

Ponyboy continued talking, ignoring whatever disgruntled face I must've been making. "I wanna skip all this too and just look at your papers, but my grade depends on this too."

This is where I slammed on the brakes on any prior thoughts I had as I stared at the kid. "Wait a minute!" I held up a hand to get him to shut up, which he promptly did. "Hold the phone, both of our grades depends on this?"

He had a look of guilt, as he hastily realized that he wasn't supposed to tell me that part. "Y-Yeah. After all that stuff happened… before… I, uh, let my mark slip. Mr. Syme allowed me an assignment as well as tutoring you to get it back up."

"Well, shit." I didn't mean to express profanity so abrasively, but to think that the teacher would make both of our grades be affected on how these lessons go. I mean, truthfully, I was going to just do whatever I needed to make my score passable, but how much of Ponyboy's would be affected by this? I obviously wasn't supposed to know of this; does this mean if I didn't advance my mark to a certain point, the kid's would drop more?

The idea that my laziness could crush his score pissed me off and made me feel all the more guilty.

"Randy." I looked up to see the kid watching me with some kind of concern. "Don't worry about my grade. Like I said, I also got an assignment so if I do that well, I'll be fine. Let's just focus on your work."

I shook my head out of disgust. "Kid, I feel like shit about this. To think I wasn't even supposed to know either just irritates me."

"Randy, its _fine_." He put a strong emphasis in his proclaim, which just annoyed me even more, but I kept it in. It's not his fault that we're stuck in this predicament. I also had another thought in mind. "So you agreed to this tutoring thing because of your grade?"

He curled his lip in thought. "Well… honestly, if it was any other Soc, I would have said no."

I stared at him for a moment, before snorting, although I might have been smirking a little.

"Thanks kid."

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AND I END IT THERE! I wanted to add more but I'm kind of short on ideas at the moment. I also hope that Randy doesn't appear too OOC… I need to go back and reread the book/rewatch the movie/do both! I will do my best to make the next chapter longer and way better, but only…

IF I GET **FEEDBACK**! PLEASE click the button below and leave a **REVIEW**, pretty please! Everyone who reviews gets… a grilled cheese sandwich with Ponyboy's face printed on it…. Lol.


	6. Chapter 5

Thanks for the reviews, guy. I really appreciate it a lot. Hope all you Outsiders lovers enjoy this next chapter. Here's to hoping things start to pick up a little, lol.

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**Chapter Five**

**Monday afternoon- 12:04 PM**

"Hey Randy, I saw something interesting."

I looked up from my lunch, glancing at my blonde-haired buddy Scott sitting across the lunch table. Chewing slowly, I swallowed the rest of my sandwich. "What's up?"

"Your tutoring sessions, it's in the library, right?"

I nodded leisurely, wondering what could possibly be so interesting about being in the library.

Scott shifted in his seat as he ran a hand through his blonde hair. "I had to go drop off a book before I went to baseball practice with Matt because it was getting overdue. Anyways, I walked in and bumped into that Curtis greaser."

My fork dropped on the table with a clatter and I quickly picked it back up. "What about 'im?"

"Well, he got all nervous and I remembered that he was involved with Bob…" He trailed off, glancing around the table. "Well, I snapped at him and left since I couldn't afford being late for practice again since our final game is this week." He heaved a deep breath. "Looking at that punk pisses me off."

I bit my lip. As for being Bob's best friend, you would think I would be the most upset, but to be honest, I stopped giving the whole occurrence much thought. Hell, he was asking for it anyways. "I told ya I'm not beating up greasers anymore and lay off that Curtis kid. You saw the papers; he's already gone through enough shit as it is."

Matt gave me a weird look. "Didn't know you were so caring, Ran."

I felt my eyebrows narrowing. "Look, I don't care what happens to them today, tomorrow or next year, but I don't feel like getting involved in anything else, alright? I got a life to live and I don't feel like wasting it by picking on poor people over in the East Side."

The guys looked among each other, and then Ted spoke up this time. "Sorry, man. We know you're still bitter over the whole thing. We miss Bob too, man. That's why we're still so pissed."

I did miss Bob being around. I could depend on that guy with my life and he'd always be there for me ever since we became friends in grade school. He was whole and real, but he was always asking for trouble. The last time I laid eyes on Bob while he was alive, trouble came right back at him full-force. "Scott, you were there at the park."

The blonde-haired teenager nodded in agreement, his eyes darkening.

I saw the hate and anger, but I stared straight at him. "Scott, remember what Bob said to that dark-haired kid? He said 'Got a knife, huh? Give me your best shot', remember? He kept pushing at him, kept egging him on."

He sighed again. "_I know_. I get it, Bob asked for it."

"He did because Bob always gets what he wants and I won't say it again: Lay off the greaser kid." My appetite now diminished, I picked up my half-full tray to leave the table and dump it out. I didn't want to think about Bob anymore, nothing about knives, dead people, blood, fights, any of that. I just want to forget it all happened.

**Monday afternoon- 2:34 PM**

As I finished another 'worksheet' Curtis handed to me, the lunch conversation kept replaying in my mind, which led to memories of the park at two in the morning, the talk inside my Mustang, the visit at the Curtis house and the juvenile court session. Everything was rushing at me and I felt completely overwhelmed.

Without even thinking about it, I threw my pencil down on the table, causing my 'tutor' jump up at the action. Hell, I didn't even realize that my breath was shortened and my hands were shaking.

"Randy." I glimpsed at the kid. His gray, or maybe green, eyes were wide and he was staring at me like I lost it. Did I? "Randy, what's wrong? Are you okay?"

"I miss hanging out with Bob." I'm still not thinking straight because I blurted that out immediately. The kid instantly went pale as he started to lean away from me. "I do but… I'm not sad."

He kept staring at me, wordlessly. He was frowning though, like he didn't understand. I didn't understand what I was saying; I was just trying to get my thoughts in order. Where does Bob fall in terms of this worksheet?

"Sorry, I'm just not thinking straight today." I bent over to pick up the pencil that fell to the floor after I threw it. "I mean, I spent this weekend with my old man and you know, doing a bunch of nothing, but earlier today, my friends…" I swallowed, looking at the boy who came up in conversation. "They were, uh, talking about Bob and I just… I dunno, I've been thinking about it."

"You know…" Ponyboy's face was not as pale, but he still looked nervous. "Maybe you did what I was doing." He noticed my questioning look. "After _they_ died, I put myself in this, sort of, dream world and convinced myself of everything but reality. I was denying what was in front of me."

"_I had it." I looked at the kid on his bed strangely. "I had the knife. I killed Bob."_

_I shook my head. "I saw it. You were almost drowned. It was the black-headed guy that had the switchblade. Bob scared him into doing it. I saw it."_

_The kid looked like a mess. "I killed him. I had a switchblade and I was scared they were going to beat me up."_

_What is he talking about? "No, kid, it was your friend, the one who died in the hospital…"_

"_Johnny is not dead." I saw his eyes getting bigger as his voice started shaking. "Johnny is not dead."_

I wasn't intentionally thinking about it, but that conversation came to mind right away and I understood what he was referring to. I wonder how long he was in denial for. "But I know Bob is dead, I'm not rejecting it."

He scratched the side of his head. "You said yer not sad, right? Maybe you haven't felt it yet. It hasn't hit you yet, ya know?" He scooted his chair back closer to the table, now that it was clear I wasn't going to flip or nothing. "You told me that he was real, but I don't think you understand how real he is or was yet. I mean, I still wake up thinking Johnny will be sitting on my front porch…" His eyes showed misery and I wondered if I looked the same. "Or even Dally just passing by, yelling 'hey'."

I stayed silent, but I wasn't sure how to respond. I obviously can't comfort myself, let alone anybody else, especially a greaser kid from the other side. I woke up every morning understanding that I wasn't riding to school with Bob or calling him up for plans later that night. Why didn't it bother me though? I missed his presence… but did I really miss Bob as a true friend? I'm pretty sure I did, but did I cut myself from feelings because we Socs were higher than that? Did I make myself incapable of caring?

"I think that we are at the same level." Ponyboy was still talking, I wasn't aware that I kept going in and out. Focus, Randy. "We need to accept reality and move on."

"I did move on!" I exclaimed. "He's not here, I get it! Just because I'm not feeling it doesn't mean…" Doesn't mean what? I'm not sure where I'm going with this.

"You don't even realize it, Randy. Cherry said something before; how you Socs have this wall you hide behind. She said you guys get to the point where you don't feel anymore, where you act in a fake way so your real emotions don't come to surface." Ponyboy was fidgeting with his hands, trying to pick things up and put them back down. He probably wants a smoke, but we're indoors so it isn't allowed. "That's what you're doing with Bob. You're telling yourself that he's dead and it doesn't matter anymore, but really, you haven't accepted it, you're just disregarding it all together."

Cherry Valance said that, huh? "So you're going by what a Soc girl claims are what apply to all the other Socs? Ain't that the same as me applying what I know of hoods to all of you greasers?" I could feel myself getting frustrated although I'm not sure exactly why. I couldn't pinpoint the exact issue but I don't like being told who or what I am, especially when I don't even know _what I am_. "Remember what you said in the car? You said I may have saved those kids, not because I was a Soc or a greaser, but for the individual reason!"

He stared back at me, but I could see that he was remembering. His eyes, I don't know why, but they are very expressive. Too expressive, he's the emotional type. Or is that a greaser thing?

I continued though. "You said we're individuals but you just made a generalization. You're explaining what my problem is based on what someone else claims. Maybe Cherry's right, but it doesn't apply all over, right? I can tell you right now that it doesn't apply to Bob." I took a deep breath, picturing Bob with his wild grin. "He got killed because he got too emotional. He got too caught up in the moment, and yeah, he was drunk. We all were, but Bob isn't like the rest of us, Ponyboy."

"Dally isn't like the rest of us greaser and us greasers aren't like the rest of the East Side." He replied quietly. "Maybe we're both wrong. Maybe we both don't understand and we're just trying to come up with reasons as to why."

I nodded slowly. I don't understand and therefore I'm denying my feelings. At the same time, Ponyboy doesn't understand and gets too emotional. I wonder if there could be a halfway point or is that specially reserved for middle-class stiffs? I looked down at the worksheet that was nearly completed, noticing that it was crinkled up from my grip. Releasing my hand, I quickly tried to smooth it out but not with much success. "Sorry about this, kid."

"Seems like you needed to let it out for awhile. You vented to me before but I think you were so weighed down by how fast everything happened at the time." He reached over, taking the paper out of my hands gently. "We had some time since then, but I think we're still suffering… just differently."

"Ponyboy, listen." I waited until I had his full attention. "I know you're tough, but seriously, be careful out there. I know your brothers and friends probably told you this. Hell, Cherry might have said something, but Bob was popular and if you still want to stand by your 'it's the individual' argument, then you must know every Soc is feelin' different."

To be honest, I was thinking of Scott when I was explaining this. I may have known my gang for a few years now, but you never know. "I said Bob was different from us. Well, he's not the only one. Some of us are colder than others. Some of us react differently. Everyone knows you were involved, so just be careful, get it?" I can tell he was resisting the idea to roll his eyes, and I really wouldn't expect anything less from a rebellious greaser kid.

"I know, you told me last week." He replied, slouching in his chair. "Darry and Soda tell me all the time, but I can handle myself. Hell, I have to learn to fend for myself anyways." He paused, rolling his head back to give me a skeptical look. "Why do you care so much anyways?"

I probably should've expected this. "Because you're a human being and I permit myself to be concerned for another human life. I think I'm allowed to remind you to watch your back around Socs that I am fully aware have more hidden under their masks than they show. You said that you would help me if you could as well as the idea that I hate the world. Well, I'm trying to return that favor and let the world show me its good side."

He tapped his fingers against the table, his gaze lowering. "Are there other Socs like you, Randy?"

"Only if there are other greasers like you."

He snorted. "Ya know, I always wonder about the middle class folks. What are their worries like?"

"Probably nothing like our's." I shrugged, sliding my pencil (that one I stole from him) in my pocket. "I think we're too wound up to sit here any longer."

He clearly agreed since he was putting his things together, but he had a worried look. "Randy, we can't slack off any longer after this, ya dig?"

"I'll do more work tomorrow." I stood up, watching him finish getting his things together. "We still got time, don't worry about it." I held up a hand. "I swear I'm not trying to ruin our grades on purpose."

"If you say so." He swung his bag over his shoulder, and then frowned when he looked over at me. "Why are you waiting?"

I blinked. I didn't even realize that I was actually waiting for him. "Habit, I guess. I'm used to walking with someone else." I glanced around, seeing that aside from the librarian herself, the place was pretty bare even with the end of the semester coming up. "There isn't anybody here anyways."

Walking to the entrance, the auburn-haired kid peeked around as well. "Well, maybe, but you don't care if people see us walking together?"

"Kid, I told you, I'm over this rivalry whatever bull. Yeah, I'm still a Soc; can look and act the part, but I'm not gonna suddenly punch you if somebody walks around the corner, okay?"

Funny story: When we did approach the corner to the main hallway, we both looked around for lingering people just in case. There wasn't anybody.

Well, except one guy.

"Two-Bit!" I flinched when Ponyboy yelled rather loudly. "Why are you still here?"

I took a good look at the guy who had crazy long sideburns and about my height, maybe a little taller. Dressed in jeans and some kind of white tee and a leather jacket, he looked like a poster boy for 1950s gangsters. He was wearing a wide grin, which did drop slightly he noticed me there, not that I'm really surprised. I remember seeing him at the Tasty Freeze when I had my so-called touching conversation with the kid.

"Hey Pone, what's good?" He walked over, clapping the kid on the back. "What are you and Super Soc doing together?"

I looked away, sighing at the nickname. I'm not astounded by the treatment, although I was actually more expecting one of these East Side guys to try picking a fight with me. This guy seems a little more laid-back though.

"C'mon, Two-Bit." I saw Ponyboy make a playful punch against his friend's arm. "It's the same guy from before, 'member? He ain't a Soc, just another guy. And I told ya that I was doin' stuff for English."

I just noticed that Ponyboy's speaking manners changed, rougher and sounding less educated. Watching him interact with his greaser friend made me wonder if maybe the kid purposely acts and speaks differently depending on who he is with. If that was the case, which was the real Ponyboy Curtis?

I had a weird feeling that if it weren't for his lousy home life, he would fit in pretty well among Socs.

I shook my head slightly, disregarding the notion. "Ponyboy, since your mother is here to take you home, I'm heading out."

Two-Bit laughed loudly, much to my amusement, as I watched the kid scowl heavily.

"Thank you darlin' for takin' good care of ma boy." The older guy replied in a high-pitched voice as he wrapped his arms around Pony in an awkward hug. "I worry that he gets bullied at school."

The Curtis kid pushed his arms away, his face taking a surly glare. "Awe, lay off already."

I felt myself cracking a smirk and withstood the urge to comment further. Raising my hand in a farewell gesture, I continued moving forward. "See you later Ponyboy and, uh, Two-Bit."

The kid responded equally while the older guy gave me a nod, still chuckling. I could still hear them jabbering with each other as I walked out the front entrance, facing the bright sunlight.

**Monday evening- 7:34 PM**

"Randal, I thought you were going out with your friends tonight."

I looked up to see my mother standing over me, an apron still tied around her body from cooking dinner earlier. She must be cleaning, I concluded, briefly recalling that she wears an apron when doing anything that could involve getting dirty. It makes me all the more glad that I didn't inherit her neat-freak gene.

I returned my attention to the television, although I'm not really sure what's on. "Nah, I'm staying in."

I could tell she was frowning without even looking at her. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, why?"

The cushion sunk in next to me, as I felt her body warmth near me. "You just seem quieter lately. I understand after… things with your friend Bob and all."

She was trying to comfort me in a tactful manner; that much was clear. I understand her attempts, but it really wasn't necessary. "No, mother, it's not that. I just had some trouble with my schoolwork but I got it figured out." I made myself look at her. "So don't worry about it. Just focus on cleaning up after me."

She playfully swatted at my head, pursing her lips. "Just like your father." She stood up again, keeping her attention on me. "Seriously though, if you need to talk, I'm here."

I nodded. "Thanks." I did appreciate it, but I'm fine. I can handle this myself.

* * *

Woo, why are boys so emotional and needy? (lol) I hope I didn't get too out of character with them, although since we only have a slight insight of Randy, I think I can stretch his personality some, yeah? I'm also trying to gradually make the chapters longer, so please bear with me.

Hoped you enjoyed and please **leave a review!**


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